


Teach Me Gently How To Breathe

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breathplay, Drunken Confessions, Knifeplay, M/M, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Pre-Series Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22358929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: The summer before Sam leaves for Stanford, Dean reveals their feelings and promises to give Sam everything he can
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 61
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2019





	Teach Me Gently How To Breathe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlindSwandive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindSwandive/gifts).



Sam breaks the news over dinner one night. A short, loud burst that’s like everything Sam does these days -- a bundle of nervous energy waiting to explode.

“I’m leaving,” he says. Venom seeping from his voice. He stands. These days he towers over Dad. His chocolate shake falls to the floor but nobody moves to clean it up. “Stanford, Dad. Full ride.”

Dean’s throat closes over and his stomach contents turn to lead. The fries in his mouth taste like bile.

John shows no emotion. He takes a slow bite of his burger. “What are you talking about?”

“Stanford. University.” 

Slow, deliberate words that seep through Dean’s body and turn it to stone-cold ice.

“What about it?” No emotion in John’s voice. Nothing like the hollow thumping in Dean’s heart.

“Sammy—“

Sam doesn’t seem to hear him. “I’m leaving. This whole, fucked up life. I told you years ago.”

There’s a beat. Dean swallows, tries to find more words than the  _ Sam, Sam, Sam _ he wants to beg. After what feels like several long, slow minutes, John stands. He slams a fist on the table and both brothers flinch. Then John is gone.

*

“Sam.”

It’s dark now, a new moon somewhere in the sky. The flimsy motel curtains rarely block out light, but a streetlight blew the night prior so they’re bathed in black. Dean can only just make out the outline of his brother, all stretching arms and legs as his body continually expands upwards.

“What?” His voice hard.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean is determined not to let his voice break. He has to swallow hard to achieve it. 

“I was going to,” Sam said, his voice softer now. “I wanted to tell you first, I just— it just came out. I’m sorry. I am.”

“So you are leaving?” 

Some part of Dean had hoped Sam was just saying it to try and get a reaction from their dad. Start an argument, like he does so often these days. Leave for a few hours, cool off, then wander back home to bed. Dean always worried but he’d learnt to deal with the routine that he’s sure was slowly unravelling their family. 

“Yeah,” Sam says, softer again. “All the way to California.”

They’d been to every state in the USA by now, hunting what went bump in the night. The past three weeks had been here in Maine looking at a supposed lighthouse haunting. Of course Sam had chosen the furthest possible place to look for escape. Dean’s just surprised it wasn’t an enrolment in Australia. 

Dean wants to go with him. Wants to grab hold of his brother with a grip so tight he can never twist away. But Dean doesn’t say any of that. He doesn’t say anything at all. 

*

The motel they’re staying at has a pool. It’s really too cold to go swimming in 70 degree weather, but pools are hard to come by and it’s not like Dad’s taking them to the ocean anytime soon. 

Dean tries not to think about California beaches. 

They swim until the sun starts to set and Sam jumps out to lie on a deck chair. He looks  _ happy _ , a sense of blissed-out calm on his face. It makes Dean’s stomach clench and then fill with guilt. 

“I like this place,” Sam says. He turns to Dean. “Think Dad could find enough cases to let us hang out here for the summer?”

“I don’t know, Sam,” Dean says, flat. 

“Oh well,” Sam says, lying back and closing his eyes. That smile is still on his face and it seems to make his whole body beam. Dean looks away. “Only a few more weeks.”

Dean storms inside. 

*

Dad does end up finding another hunt.

“You boys stay here,” he says. The longest sentence he’s spoken to Sam since he declared his college intentions. 

Dean opens his mouth. Closes it. If this is the last time he gets to spend with Sam, he’ll take it. Dad will be fine. 

*

Dean cracks open a six pack that night and sets a fifth of whiskey on the battered coffee table. Reruns of  _ Back To The Future  _ 1 and 2 are set to start in five minutes and Dean is forcing a smile onto his face. 

Sam deserves to be happy and Dean will celebrate even if it kills him. And, judging by the way his heart squeezes and aches? It will.

The shower on the other side of the wall shuts off. A few minutes later Sam comes out with damp, messy hair and low-slung jeans. No shirt. Dean stares at the TV and his beer.

“What’s this?” Sam asks. The couch dips as he sits and the springs groan against the weight. 

“Stanford.” Sip. Swallow. Breathe. “That’s impressive. Thought we should celebrate.”

Sam side-eyes him but grabs a beer and chugs down. Dean finishes off his own and grabs another. He has two more six packs in the fridge. Another bottle of whiskey hidden under the bed.

Again, Dean wants to ask why. Wants to demand answers. Beg and plead with Sam to go back in time and choose a different path. But he says nothing. He focuses on his brother’s knee touching his and the sound of his throat as the beer goes down. Real. Important. Connected. He opens the whiskey as Sam puts down the can.

“Doubt you’ll be affording the good stuff in California,” he says and takes it swig. It burns. “And you never did like credit card scams.”

Sam laughs. It’s a rich, innocent sound that fills the room. Dean wants to bury himself in it. He doesn’t care about the TV anymore. 

Halfway through the bottle Dean makes the move. His body heavy, his head floating. The world shifts slow then fast then fades away. Dean has his mouth on Sam’s and his tongue pressing against the seam of his lips until Sam eagerly opens for him.

He’s too tall, growing too awkwardly, but somehow Sam still manages to scramble into Dean’s lap.

“Why?” he’s asking Dean in a place that sounds underwater. “Why now?  _ Why? _ ”

All Dean can say is “Sammy, Sammy” and kiss him over and over again. Drinking in his brother like the booze from earlier until he’s dizzy with it.

Somehow, in that way the world works when you’re drunk, both their shirts are off and their chests flush against one another. Heat radiates inwards and outwards; up and down.

Dean would be lying if he said this moment hadn’t crossed his mind before. But he’d pushed it far, far away into the furthest recesses of his mind. Thinking this about his guy — about his  _ brother _ . It made him a monster.

But now. Now. Sam is keeping against him, chasing his mouth whenever it cuts away to breathe. Hand finding its way to the bulge in Dean’s jeans and bypassing the fabric. 

Dean moans the second Sam makes contact with skin. “God,” he says. “Sam. Fuck. Sam.”

Sam makes short work of Dean’s jeans and Dean helps. Part instinct, part raw desire. Lifts his ass to push everything away then helps Sam do the same. 

Dean bites down against Sam’s neck. When he pulls back he traces the imprints of his teeth. Bruised and broken skin that will remind Sam he is Dean’s. Always. No matter how far he may try to go. 

Sam arches into him. “More,” he says. “Dean. Again.”

Another. Dozens of kisses, bites, nips coating Sam’s body. Sam asks for them again and again until they’re both out of breath.

It’s fast and messy. Their cocks pressed together and body’s rocking in synch. Sam grips Dean’s hair and holds on, pulls the orgasm right out of him and goes tumbling down after.

*

The next morning Dean wakes up with a roaring headache and cotton mouth. It takes him a few beats for the night to come flooding back and Dean rolls over so fast he almost falls out of bed.

Beside him, Sam is splayed out naked and asleep.

_ What the fuck just happened? _

He feels sick. His stomach lurching and he runs to the bathroom just in time to throw up the alcohol and sin mixed inside him.

“Dean?”

Dean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks over his shoulder at Sam. He’s hair is sleep tousled and cheeks flushed but his eyes are wide as they stare at Dean. Dean can’t read them. He’s not sure he wants to.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. Bile rises in his throat and he has to look away.

“I’m not sorry,” Sam says. He drops down next to Dean and grips his face. Forces them eye to eye. “I’m not. We both wanted this. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Dean’s head keeps swimming. He can’t look at Sam. Can’t. Can’t. He’s supposed to be the big brother. Supposed to protect Sam. Supposed to—

“Please,” Sam says. His fingers dig into Dean’s shoulders. “I want to do everything with you,” Sam says. He someone looks so young yet so grown up. “Before...before I go.”

_ Don’t say that _ . But Dean keeps quiet and nods instead. “Okay, Sammy. Whatever you want.”

***

It starts like that. Dean timid and terrified as he learns to touch his brother without the aid of alcohol. Dad calls to say the hunt will take another week, max. Sam listens in on the conversation with his face pressed up right against Dean’s. Warm breath. Dean struggles to concentrate. 

“Okay, Dad,” he says in an attempt to wrap up the conversation. Sam’s hand snakes around to rest on his ass. “It’s fine. We’re good here.”

As soon as he hangs up Sam grabs the phone and tosses it across the room where it lands on their disused bed. 

“Come on,” Sam says, climbing onto Dean’s lap. It seems to be his favourite position these days no matter how gangly.

Dean takes Sam’s face in his hands and looks him in the eye. His brother. His favourite person in the world. Dean kisses him until they can’t breathe anymore. 

“Hold your breath. Just breathe with me, baby.”

Sam closes his mouth and Dean watches his adam’s apple bob with a deep swallow. His chest no longer rises or falls. Dean leans closer, ghosts his lips over Sam’s. 

“So good for me,” Dean says and Sam gasps between them. Nothing goes in. 

Dean slowly lets out his breath and Sam sucks it in. Holds. His body still and rigid apart from soft, searching eyes trained on Dean.

_ I love you _ , Dean thinks. The thought sudden but not a surprise.  _ I love you and I can’t lose you _ . 

Dean breathes out again and catches Sam’s as he does the same. In and out. Hold. Watch as Sam squirms and holds Dean's eyes. His muscles twitch. Dean breathes in again and Sam follows. 

They continue the process. Dean’s cock thickens in his pants and his heart thrums in his chest. Heaviness pulls on him and he feels it from Sam, too. Each time he steals his brother’s breath then gives it right back. 

Sam pushes closer. Dean can no longer see anything except his soft, pliant lips.

_ In _ . 

Cool, fresh. 

_ Out _ . 

Warm, sweet.

“Okay, Sammy,” Dean says.

Sam grabs him then. Pushing Dean onto the bed and their cocks line up perfectly through layers of denim. It’s enough. Somehow it’s enough. Knowing it’s his brother against him as they suck in each other’s air makes Dean come in his pants like a teenager.

Really, it is just like the first time all over again. 

*

The next motel has no pool. The room has no cable. Dad forces them both on a hunt with him to take down a trio of poltergeists refusing to leave their childhood home. Then he’s gone again, on a hunt as a favour to Bobby, and the room is theirs.

Sam leaves in 7 weeks. 

*

Dean can name every knife they have. The varieties of silver, iron, gold, iridium, brass. Kept sharp and ready. Their little pocket knives, the first weapon Dad ever gifted Sam. Huge machetes, serrated hunting blades, and thin throwing knives. Split between the impala trunk and well-worn duffle bags. 

Dean chooses his own pocket knife and walks back over to Sam . It’s a delicious sight; him ties spread-eagle to the bed with tight knots on the posts. His cock hard and curved up against his belly. Eyes half-covered by bangs but trained on Dean.

“Ready, Sammy?” Dean asks as he slowly walks over. He plays with the knife in his hand until it leaves a small cut on his palm. Bright pain springs up with the dribble of blood.

“You okay?” Sam asks.

Dean can’t help giving a soft laugh. “I wanted to do that.”

He’s at the bed. Gets up between Sam’s legs and presses his palm to Sam’s mouth. Sam licks eagerly until the blood stops flowing and slows to a tiny trickle. When he looks back up at Dean he has red staining his lips. 

“Your blood,” Dean says as he cards a hand through Sam’s hair. 

Dean peppers greedy kisses over Sam’s face and body. Down to his cock that he takes in his own mouth. 

Sam is already fully hard and leaking; solid and salty against Dean’s tongue. He takes as much in as he can, hoping and praying one day —

_ if there is a one day,  _ but he refuses to entertain the thought

— it will be more. Sam deserves more. 

Dean teases the tip with his tongue then presses it rigid down the entire length. He focuses. He enjoys. He hopes Sam is, too. 

Sam’s hips rise up off the bed as his eyes snap closed and his mouth opens slack with a moan. Dean throws his arm over Sam. Holds him steady and pulls off. Sam whimpers. 

“Not yet,” Dean says. “Not ‘til I say.”

Sam throws his head back down and beats his fists against the comforter in what Dean can only assume is frustration. He smiles to himself and keeps going.

He’s learning his brother. Every last part of him he couldn’t know when they were growing up. Evolving from learning how to shush his brother’s cries to explaining things that went bump in the night. 

And now. God. Learning just how his brother likes his balls cupped and his cock teased. Those little tells that let Dean know his brother is so, so close. 

He backs off again. Gets a frustrated growl in response.

“Patience, Sammy,” Dean says. “I’ll get you there.”

_ When he’s ready _ . 

When they’re both ready and Sam is begging, aching, needing to be released. Not a second before. 

Dean keeps going. Drawing Sam into his mouth then backing off when he starts to twitch.

“Please, Dean,” he’s starting to whine. “Just—don’t you want some, too?”

It’s a tempting offer. One Dean turns down. He keeps his hand on Sam’s cock, jerking him slowly, when he pulls off.

“We’ll get there,” he says. “You first.”

He takes Sam again, but this time keeps going. As deep as he can get and a little further. Gagging. Sam moans. His cock tightens. His fists ball up in the sheets. And Dean takes. Swallows. Until his brother is spent and playing lazily with Dean’s hair. 

“Wow,” he says. “Wow.”

Dean’s left hand has sprouted fresh blood from the cut. It dribbles out and he gives the hand to Sam again. Let’s his suck and tease not unlike the way Dean played with his cock. It turns Dean on more than he could’ve imagined. 

“Can I give you a hand now?” Sam asks. Even still sounding breathless his hand takes hold of Dean’s hard cock.

Dean grins. “Of course.”

*

The bar is brighter than Dean would’ve liked, but Sam seems in his element. Fake ID passes the bartender test and he brings them over two bright pink drinks with little umbrellas. 

Dean wrinkles his nose. “Couldn’t have gone with beer? Whiskey?”

Sam takes a sip and smiles. “I asked her—“ he jerks his thumb at the bartender. “—what the most popular drink is. Cosmo.”

“Right.” Dean takes his own sip. It’s surprisingly delicious. He doesn’t tell Sam.

Around them are people not much older than Dean — another rarity in his bar hopping excursions. It takes most hunters another decade or so to become grisled and worn enough to spend their free moments drinking away sorrow as they plot out their next hunt. Dean started earlier though, to be fair, he’d been a hunter before he’d even blown out five candles on a cake. 

He watches as Sam watches them. It dawns on Dean that Sam’s probably never been to a bar like this either; he was only ever dragged along to Dean and John’s haunts. 

What shocks Dean is the tightening pool of jealousy swirling in the pit of his stomach. He follows Sam’s gaze back to the woman behind the bar. 

“Wanna go for her, huh, Sammy?” He downs the drink fast in an attempt to hide the venom in his voice. He needs something stronger.

“What?” Sam whips his head back around to the table.

“She’s got a good rack,” Dean says. He can’t stop himself. The heat in his stomach rises and makes his head spin. Not in a good way. “I could see you two.”

Sam’s eyes knit together in a deeper look of confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

All of a sudden the bravado Dean was shoving out disappeared. The jealousy turning less from a burst of heat more into a deep-belly sickness. Why are they even here?

Dean lets Sam finish his drink — as agonisingly slowly as he does. His eyes don’t flicker to the bartender again. They stay on Dean. Pupils blown wide from the dark corner Dean insisted they sit in.

“Sam,” he says. It’s all he really needs to.

They make it back to the motel in a stumble and fumble of hands. Tripping in, flicking on the light, and ending up on the bed. 

“You’re mine,” Dean says, hot and heavy against Sam’s mouth. “Not hers. Not anybody else’s.”

Sam breaks away but keeps two hands steady on the sides of Dean’s face. Holding him. Keeping him.

“Come with me,” Sam says in a broken whisper. “Stay with me.”

Thickness rises up Dean’s throat and he tries to push it down with Sam’s tongue. Deep, lingering kisses. Sam’s crying. Dean won’t let himself. 

He strips Sam slowly. Taking in every inch of his brother.  _ This could be the end _ , he thinks. Then pushes it down. Away. Back into the place he hid wanting Sam in the first place. Lock it up and throw away the key. 

Sam is naked before him. Hard and beautiful and perfect and  _ fuck _ . 

Dean runs his hands along every piece of skin he can reach. Reciting it all to the memory box he’s named  _ Sam _ . 

“Dean,” Sam says. He’s stopped crying but his eyes shine and tracks of tears glisten down his cheeks. Dean presses his fingers to them and licks them away. They taste of sin and forgiveness.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean says. He doesn’t know whether he’s reassuring Sam or himself.

Dean reaches to the bedside table and the bottle of lube they’ve left there. Slicks up his fingers and presses one up inside Sam. 

Sam pushes back against him. Fucking himself on just this. Dean has to reign himself in, to stop himself from diving right to a home run. He wants to be inside Sam so bad it’s an ache in his heart as much as his cock. 

Another finger. Stretched wide and wet and ready. He hurries out of his own clothes, stumbling in his underwear which elicits a short laugh for Sam. It cuts through the pain of everything else and Dean has to smile. Then has to kiss Sam and appreciate just how perfect he can make every moment. 

He lubes up his own cock and takes one more sweeping gaze over the entirety of Sam. In a single moment he’s both as big as the world and as small as this motel room. Sam has always been Dean’s everything. He’ll always continue to be.

Dean gets on top of his brother. The bed protests but he doesn’t care; they can break it and end up on the floor and everything would still be amazing. Sam lies under him, still smiling, a hand reaching down to cup Dean’s ask and draw him inside the warm, wet heat of his brother. 

It’s like coming home when he never knew he’d been lost.

Deeper still. Until he’s a part of Sam. Even more than blood and flesh. Sam drags him in until there’s nothing left outside. His arms interlocking over Dean’s back. Dean’s own hands gripping Sam’s hair.

“I’m coming with you,” Dean bursts out. He knows it’s a stupid idea. One he’ll be unable to explain to Dad or even in detail to Sam. But he has to do this. Without Sam he’d die. 

“Thank you.” Sam pulls Dean down. Kisses him. Whispers promises and sorrys and everything he hasn’t been able to say before this moment. Dean drinks it in. 

Now he can’t wait any longer. He fucks into Sam. Pulling out and driving back in. Leaving an imprint of himself to seal his decision. 

Sam asks him for  _ more, more _ and Dean gives him everything. His body and soul transferred over. Let Sam have a better life. Let him escape and thrive.

Neither lasts long. Dean frees a hand from Sam’s hair and wraps it around his cock. A few jerks and he’s spilling over Dean’s fingers and Dean inside Sam. 

*

“Did you mean it?” Sam whispers later. There’s no need; the world is silent apart from their breaths and heartbeats. Synchronised. As it always should be. “About Stanford?”

Dean rolls over so he’s facing his brother. Laces their fingers together and holds on. “You and me, Sammy. Always.”


End file.
